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2004-06-06 - 8:46 p.m.

THE GIFTED CHICKEN

Just my luck to be blessed with a gifted chicken. Other parents of AP Biology students just have to contend with ordinary chickens. I get stuck with the Einstein of chickens.

In children, intelligence is usually good but, as any parent of intelligent children will tell you, raising intelligent children can be challenging. Day is a bright child and, as a toddler, was so inventive with tools that baby-proofing became a constant challenge. When she was only nine months old, she figured out how to swing from the dining room chandelier by pushing a box over to the chair, using it to climb onto the chair, and then climbing from the chair to the table. By a year and a half or so, she was getting up at night and turning on her light. We could not figure out how she was reaching the switch until one night we caught her. She was taking her play mop and using it over her head to hook the switch. (She was able to wander around her room because Little Miss Houdini was so good at getting out of her crib that we had moved her mattress to the floor. We then had put first one and then two gates, one over the other, to keep her in the room.)

Chicklet (or as Mr. Philately calls him, McNuggets) has similar propensities. Our neighbor who took care of her (or him) for Memorial Day weekend used to raise chickens. He insisted that Chicklet was unusually intelligent. I did not necessarily believe him but I do now.

For starters, Chicklet is an escape artist. She has had a friend over all weekend and her friend, Spot, stays in the box unless the grill over it is removed. Spot stays in the three-box chicken run unless all of the covers, grill and paper, are removed. Chicklet plots. Yes, I know chicks are not supposed to plot but Chicklet plots. She studies the boxes she is in for weaknesses. When she finds one, she works at it until she has figured out how to get out. If it takes �flying� up and throwing her body at the proper weak spot over and over, she will do it.

Once she gets out, her intelligence is even more in evidence. A little while ago, she escaped from the chicken run, ran across my carpet, �flew� up to the top of her nighttime box and then hopped herself over to the fireplace ledge and went around the garbage can that was up there and, without hesitation, went to the baggie that holds her food and started trying to peck through it.

Catching her and returning her is not easy either. Spot is a properly imprinted chick who only escapes when no lid is on the box. Spot is imprinted on any human being. Begin walking around the room and Spot will start following you. You then can have someone else grab Spot and return him (her?) to the box. Chicklet, however, is only imprinted on Kat and only when it suits her. The first few times Chicklet escaped, Kat went walking in circles (on purpose as opposed to what happens when she loses track of what she is doing) and Chicklet followed. But Chicklet soon learned that capture came if she followed. Now Chicklet immediate dashes for the nearest piece of furniture to walk under, making her very hard to grab.

And then there is the matter of the water dish. The water dish is a top to a wide-mouth peanut butter jar. Chicklet loves to play in the water. Put the water dish in the box and Chicklet will run over and splash most of it out with her feet. We tried to defeat her. I suggested placing aluminum foil over half of the water dish, leaving enough area for a good drink but not enough for splashing. Chicklet took one look, put down her beak, and flung off the foil.

Mary often speaks of her bad, stupid dog. Well, at least until June 17th, we have a bad, extremely smart chicken. Even though I dislike dogs, I am considering a switch.

What has life come to when I think it would be better to have a stupid dog than a smart chick?

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